


Abandon All Hope

by AcademicRebel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Asylum, John is dead, M/M, Not in Sherlocks mind palace though, Reverse Reicanbach, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcademicRebel/pseuds/AcademicRebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My name is Shelock Holmes; I am Fifteen years of age. I used to cut myself, I also did drugs at some point.” <br/>“And why did you do that, Sherlock?” he looks to the ceiling dazed almost, and the Doctor figures he won’t be getting an answer. <br/>“Because my best friend John Watson-” Sherlocks voice cracks. “ Is dead.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The patient was top priority. As said by the head doctor. “His brother is a government official, and the money he gives supports this place.” The doctors never went out of their way, but that was because the patient was a difficult one. He spoke to no one, made the other children cry when he does. And just starts, _screaming_ , when in lockdown sometimes. Oh yes, the Curious Case of Sherlock Holmes.

He looks soulless, lost. His older brother visits almost daily, bringing puzzles and news from the outside. Sherlock barley notices Mycroft’s presence, only when the brother is gone does he finishes the puzzles of the day and visits his mind palace. His therapists don’t last long. A new one arrived after he casually mentioned to the old one that her husband was obviously cheating on her.

* * *

 

The patient waits until the therapist is unnerved enough to speak first. “Well, this is your first session with me. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” his abnormal grey-green eyes pierce the Doctor, dark curls uncombed. The glare said he knew the doctor had everything he needed to know on his file, but complied anyway, lest going into lockdown again. The low baritone voice was surprisingly deep and scratchy, underused except for screaming. “My name is Shelock Holmes; I am Fifteen years of age. I used to cut myself, I also did drugs at some point.” The boy- Sherlock- looks to the doctor to continue. The Doctor swallows thickly, here comes the worst part. “And why did you do that, Sherlock?” he looks to the ceiling dazed almost, and the Doctor figures he won’t be getting an answer.

“Because my best friend John Watson-” Sherlocks voice cracks. “Is dead.”


	2. Crumbling Mind Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tried to delete Him, but found himself doing the opposite.

It was hazy, to say the least. All he really remembers of these dreams was _John **.**_ Blue, supporting eyes and comforting laughter. No longer were they awkward teens, but adults. _A consulting Detective and his Army Doctor_. Solving crimes and just, being together. A future that could have happened, should have happened. But didn’t, because of _him_. Oh god he’s tried to delete it, all of it. John Hamish Watson and everything that happened between them.

But then he remembered his face. Johns face when they saw each other for the first time. And the worry- not pity- when he found Sherlock’s razors then his needles and-

He couldn’t do it.

So instead he memorized everything about him and locked him away in the crumbling mind palace. When he dreams it’s of what could have been. Johns there, so is Mycroft –ugh- and, everyone else.  Unfortunately. But it all seems so real, its paradise because John is there. Laughing, getting angry; the whole deal. When he wakes up and realizes he’s back in the _hell hole_ and Johns really dead-

He screams.

Loud.

 

* * *

 

The Nurse gives him sedatives and immediately turns to leave afterwards. Sherlock hates the sedative, it messes with his head. Makes it hazy like his dreams but never, ever in the good way. Arms are restrained to the side of his standard issue bed with an IV poking out of his arm. Sherlock never really eats; he’s so thin and really needs the nutrients. But it’s hard, he promised Johns he wouldn’t cut again but with all these IVs it was really hard. Harder still to keep food down. Thinking of him (Not like he ever stops thinking about him) Sherlock turns his head.

On the wall next to the bed are three pictures of them. John grinning in his Rugby uniform without his jersey; his arm was slung around Sherlock who was wearing it with a wary smile. Another had Sherlock in John’s arms both asleep, Mummy had taken that one. And finally both of them kissing in the library, Mycroft’s friend Athena had snapped that one. Slowly, Sherlock turned his head to look back up to the ceiling.

Sedated, tears where the only sign of his sorrow. 

* * *

He tries to dream of that perfect place. But all that comes to mind is the _blood_. A meager wound at best, he would have been fine (with therapy of course) if _He_ had left them alone. Jim Moriarty, the school psychopath, had a thing for Sherlock. When he found out John and Sherlock where in a relationship, he decided to shoot up the School.

Specificity, one John Watson.

And the blood ohgod the _blood_. Fifty-two students dead, including Jim and John.

When he wakes up this time, the sedatives haven’t worn off. Tears make the pillow damp and mouth open in a silent scream for _John_.

Who doesn’t come to comfort him anymore. He can’t, because he’s gone.

He won't be coming back.


End file.
